Playing for Pizza by John Grisham

about the next course, excited about meeting Italian cheerleaders.
    Sam explained that Paolo had a degree from Texas A&M and worked for his family’s company, one that made small tractors and farm implements.
    “So you’re an Aggie,” Rick said.
    “Yes,” Paolo said proudly. “I love Texas. That’s where I found football.”
    Giorgio just smiled as he ate and listened to the conversation. Sam said that he was studying English, then whispered that looks were deceiving because Giorgio couldn’t block a doorway. Great.
    Carlo was back, directing waiters and rearrangingthe table. Nino produced another bottle, which, surprisingly, came from just around the corner. It was a Lambrusco, a sparkling red, and Nino knew the wine-maker. There are many fine Lambruscos throughout Emilia-Romagna, he explained, but this was the best. And the perfect complement to the tortellini in brodo that his brother was serving at the moment. Nino took a step back, and Carlo began a rapid recitation in Italian.
    Sam translated softly, but quickly. “This is tortellini in meat stock, a famous dish here. The little round pasta balls are stuffed with braised beef, prosciutto, and parmigiano; the filling varies from town to town, but of course Parma has the best recipe. The pasta was handmade this afternoon by Carlo himself. Legend has it that the guy who created tortellini modeled it after the belly button of a beautiful naked woman. All sorts of such legends here involving food, wine, and sex. The broth is beef, garlic, butter, and a few other things.” Rick’s nose was a few inches above his bowl, inhaling the rich aromas.
    Carlo took a bow, then added something with caution. Sam said, “He says these are small servings because more of the first course is on the way.”
    Rick’s first ever tortellini almost made him cry. Swimming in broth, the pasta and its filling jolted his senses and caused him to blurt, “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Carlo smiled and began his retreat to the kitchen.
    Rick washed the first tortellini down with Lambrusco, and attacked the others swimming in the deepbowl. Small servings? Paolo and Giorgio had gone silent and were deeply involved with their tortellini. Only Sam showed some restraint.
    Nino seated a young couple nearby, then rushed forth with the next bottle, a fabulous dry red Sangiovese from a vineyard near Bologna that he personally visited once a month to monitor the progress of the grapes. “The next course is a little more heavy,” he said. “So the wine needs to be more strong.” He uncorked it with a flair, sniffed the bottle, rolled his eyes in approval, then began pouring. “We are in for a treat,” he said as he filled five glasses, giving himself a slightly more generous serving. Another toast, more of a curse directed at the Bergamo Lions, and they tasted the wine.
    Rick had always been a beer man. This headlong dive into the world of Italian wines was bewildering, but also very tasty.
    One waiter was gathering the remains of the tortellini while another whisked down fresh plates. Carlo marched from the kitchen with two waiters in tow and directed traffic.
    “This is my favorite,” Carlo began in English, then switched to a friendlier tongue. “It’s a stuffed pasta roll,” Sam was saying as they gawked at the delicacy before them. “It is stuffed with veal, pork, chicken livers, sausage, ricotta cheese, and spinach, and layered with fresh pasta.”
    Everyone but Rick said, “Grazie,” and Carlo took another bow and disappeared. The restaurant was almost full and becoming noisy. Rick, while never missinga bite, was curious about the people around him. They seemed to be locals, enjoying a typical meal at the neighborhood café. Back home, food like this would cause a stampede. Here, they took it for granted.
    “You get a lot of tourists here?” he asked.
    “Not many,” Sam said. “All the Americans go to Florence, Venice, and Rome. A few in the summer. More